


A Shattered Heart, Held Together By Steel Armor

by phunWorks



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, sort of a vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-26 11:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12556004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phunWorks/pseuds/phunWorks
Summary: These weeks, these days.... just want them to end....





	A Shattered Heart, Held Together By Steel Armor

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: Italics that are bold are meant to be louder voices, whereas normal italics are quieter.

Monday 

There's my ceiling, as moldy and grimy as always. Damn. That means my eyes opened again. Why can't they just stop doing that? I sit up in bed. Well, that means this is definitely real. Shit. I wonder if anyone else ever feels this way. Feels like every time they wake up, sure the demons from last night are silent, but all of what they'd done has set in. What they put you through is working its way through your head and into your soul. The soul. That beaten and battered thing that's still tied to this vessel. The vessel is also scared and beaten in ways most people could never understand. These things I think about... I can't share them with anyone. No one would understand. And if I did find someone who did, it'd break my damn heart. 

I manage to put my bare feet on the floor. Unsafe. I immediately grab at my drawer and pull out a pair of socks. Safe. Now I can stand. I walk to my desk on the other side of the room and open the tight kid-safe lid. Then open a bottle of water. More medicinal skittles... whoo-hoo. The simple fact that I "need" them pisses me off. A lot of people tell me, "Well diabetics need insulin, don't they?" They try to make me feel like it's okay to be buckets of crazy. It's not that I don't agree if it's anyone else, but I can't accept that this is me. How could this be me? Only three years ago I was a basketball star. Only three years ago I was going somewhere. Yet, here I stand a twenty-one year old who still lives with his mother and has to be supported like a child. That's what taking these pills means to me. It means I'm still fucked up. 

Alright. Time to leave my room. I grab my phone and earbuds. I think I want to listen to something without vocals this morning. I go into my 'Instrumental's Only' folder. "Your Hand In Mine" by Explosions in the Sky sounds good to me. I put my phone in my pocket and walk up to the menacing door that separates me from danger. That divides me from life. I take a deep breath. I hold it. I let it out slowly. I take in the cold surface of the doorknob against my palm and fingers. My body temperature drops.  _Good morning, asshole._ Fuck. It's starting early today.  _You sure you want to open that door, Tyler? You sure?_ "Shut up." I take one more breath and open the door while hastily stepping into the hallway.  _They'll get you out here._  Another step. _You aren't safe._  I focus on the texture of the thick carpet. _You aren't safe._  It feels good on my feet. Well, as long as I have socks on. Nothing bad should happen as long as I have socks on. _Why the fuck are you out here?_ "Because I need to fucking eat before I take anymore fucking meds."  _Don't take the damn meds._ Why'd I answer? It always gets worse when I answer.  _Meds control your brain. The hallway isn't safe. Get out of it._  The tip of my toes reach the edge of the stair case. Alright, time to count. 1-2-3-4-  _Hurry the fuck up!_ -5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12. Good. Still twelve. I take the first step with my left.  _Don't fall._ Right foot.  _Careful._ I keep going and step on the final step with my right and the tile floor below it with my left. Perfect. That feels good. Something good just happened and I need to remember that. I turn and walk along the tile next to the staircase wall in a straight line into the kitchen. I make myself a bowl of Frosted-flakes and sit at the table on the end. I like this chair. I can see every entry/exit. The sliding back door, where I came from and in the center is the entry into the living room. The living room looks neat. My mom must've cleaned up before work. I wish she wouldn't do that. That's my job. Least I can do since I free-load under her roof.  

The next five hours go by in a blur. A blur consisting of Youtube videos, a lot of music, porn -- coinciding with jacking-off -- and finally trying with everything I can to write. It's been two months since I was able to sit down and write anything, outside of trash poetry. At some point things started getting loud, again. Too loud. So, I turned my music up louder and then just a bit more for good measure. One of these days I'm going to go deaf. Until then, I have to drown out the rest of my mind. Even though I normally listen to heavier music to drown things out, I'm also trying to write. "For Blue Skies" by Strays Don't Sleep is playing now to be followed by the Little Dragon cover of "Twice". I like it. It helps me think and ignore my head while still keeping me calm. Calm. The thing I feel like I fight tooth and nail for. There are times when it comes easy, times when being calm is second nature. Those times are just as dangerous because calm mean silence, and silence means that I'm alone and being alone with myself means I don't want to live this way anymore. Calm is when I think too much. Which is why making myself constructively calm is such a delicate balance. 

I hear the door bell ring through the speaker in my room. I take my headphones off and listen anxiously. "I'm home, honey!" My mom. I feel a lot calmer now that I know she's home and safe. I put my headphones back on and continue writing. I don't feel like putting on my front tonight. I just want to stay in my room

 

Thursday  

"What motivates you to eat, if anything?" Her eyebrow went up. Hey, that means she's actually interested.  ** _Don't say a fucking thing._**

Okay, here we go. Should I be honest? She actually cares about this one, which means she'll probably know if I'm lying. Fuck... maybe she always knows when I'm lying. Wouldn't surprise me. Shit. She leaned forward, I need to back up. I hate when she does that. I'm taking too long. "I-uh... I don't know...." Best answer she's going to get.

"Think, Tyler. What motivates you to eat?"

 _Anything you have to say isn't important._ "I... I-uh...,"  _Stop stammering, you fucking idiot._ "Probably just so I can drink."  _ **Shut up!**_ I flinched. Her eyes changed, she noticed.

"Drink?" 

"Drink. Like alcohol," I tell her. "I hate drinking on an empty stomach if I can help it."  _You're so fucking pathetic._ "So, that means I eat a little."

"You aren't supposed to be drinking on your medication, Tyler."  _Yeah, Tyler. You pathetic piece of shit._ "If you're going to be drinking then your medication won't be able to do its job."  _Why can't you be a man and keep your mouth shut._

"I know that," I answer.  _Only the weak need to share their pathetic little feelings._ "It's also the only way I can sleep."

"You have pills for that."  _You want to tell her what we plan to do with those pills?_ "Why do you not take them?"

"I do, sometimes."  ** _Liar._** "They... they just make the sleep paralysis worse. I don't like them."

"We could try to find something else that works better for you."  _Hopefully those will turn out to be more lethal._ "Then you won't feel the need to drink."  _Last time didn't work out so well._ I nod and stare at the floor. I don't want to talk anymore. Court mandated or not, this isn't helping. "Who did you just nod to, Tyler?"

My head shoots up, "What?"

Her eyes get a little wide. "I didn't say anything, Tyler. I haven't for the past eight minutes. You've been the one talking."

"No-no, no I haven't," I stammer.

"You were telling me all about how you killed them. Killed all of those people, Tyler." My heart's beating against my chest as though it's viciously attacking its way through my bones. "You're disgusting." I can't breathe. "I always knew I couldn't help you." I shut my eyes to try and tune her out. "You liked what he did to you, don't you. You liked it.  **YOU'RE DISGUSTING!** " 

"STOP!" She's still yelling, but I can't make it out anymore. I put my hands over my ears. Her voice is too deep to understand anymore. 

 _Tyler._ Why is she doing this?  ** _Tyler._** I didn't like it. I didn't fucking like it, damn it.  _ **Tyler!**_ "No!" 

"Tyler!" I open my eyes. I can barely see through the tears. All I see are red eyes. "You have to breathe, sweet heart. Remember our breathing." Her eyes are blue. They're blue. They're blue. I take a shakey breath as a few more tears escape my eyes. "You're okay, Tyler. You're safe." I nod and try to keep my breath steady. The tears have stopped. "Tyler," she gets my attention after another minute. "Was that another flashback?"  _Tell her the truth and I'll do it again._ I nod hastily. 

 

Sunday 

I sit alone watching TV for half an hour. Thirty damn minutes, that's all I get before a woman starts crying down the hall. She sobs, someone's talking to her, she cries some more and someone outside begins to scream as though her flesh is being flayed. I knew this would happen. I had to eat, didn't I? I had to eat in the living room instead of at the dinner table. I broke the rules and this is my punishment. I deserve this. That's when I decide to go out to the porch. It's dark and menacing, so I light up one of my last Marlboros. A few drags in and things get quiet. A few more and my hands aren't shaking. Now it's just my thoughts. My. Fucking. Thoughts. Well I'm done with that, so I go back inside. A hand brushes my hair and I shake it off. Fuck. Why won't this just calm down. Why am I like this? I made a promise I wouldn't be scared. So, I turn the movie back on. Not that I'm paying much attention to it, though. Moments like these I wish I had alcohol on me but seeing as how my mom saw it fit to take anything that actually helps out of the house since my appointment, I just have to stay sober. Seems overrated but the doc says it might help the meds work better. Too bad she thinks I'm still taking them. 

Well, now I have to use the bathroom. This should be fun. I walk down the hall where the woman had been crying. My hair stands up and my skin crawls. I don't like this hallway but I hate the bathroom more. I walk in and don't allow myself to look in the mirror. I've needed to pee for a while. I can't lie, I feel a slight relief. I flush the toilet and go to wash my hands. 1-2-3- I wonder what life would be like if I still lived with my dad. I probably would have even more motivation to not be a pussy. I could finally take myself out of life's picture frame. It's not like I'm not trying to get better. Every breath I take is me trying. Why doesn't anyone seem to understand that? I'm here. Why isn't that enough?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I haven't been counting. How long have I been in front of the mirror? Has it been more than twenty seconds? I look up at my reflection who's smiling back. Wait. I'm not smiling. I'm not smiling.  _Tyler...._ "Fuck," I yell. I run for the door before wiping my hands. I can't fucking unlock it. He's coming, I know he's coming. He's laughing. Shit. Shit! I finally get the lock and run towards the front of the house and up the stairs. I don't bother to count them. I trip on the last step but get up fast. I burst through my bedroom door and shut it. Once it's locked, I take a small breath and run my fingers through my sweat soaked hair. I go to my cabinet. Things are so loud I can't make any of them out. It's like a full auditorium of voices. I pull out my Ativan and take about four of them. Then I pull out my Zyprexa. I take what I think is 20mg. Maybe it's more. I don't know. I truly don't care. That's when I take a few Trazodones. I go to my bed and stare at the ceiling until darkness takes me. 

"....I'll wait for you there, like a stone...."  My radio must be on. I can hardly breathe and my head feels like constant static. My cheek is wet. I roll off my bed. I don't feel anything when I hit the floor. Must've been drool. "....In dreams until my death, I will wonder on...." The music carries me away. I don't fight. In fact, for the first time in days, I'm smiling. 

 

Monday  

There's my ceiling, as moldy and grimy as always....


End file.
